Meditation
by smarty0007
Summary: Arnold teaches Helga how to meditate and in turn learns more about her.
1. Try

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Thanks for reading. :)

"Look, are you gonna let me help you or not?"

"Okay, okay. Fine. Shoot, Arnold."

Helga didn't know how this was supposed to help her, but Arnold had insisted she come over to the boarding house that afternoon. She was sitting with him on the floor in an empty room off the hallway. Her eyes wandered to a puddle of sunlight on the worn carpet.

Helga shrugged. Whatever happened, at least she was close enough to Arnold to detect the unique scent of the shampoo he used. She needed to remember to ask him what brand it was, hoping her face didn't betray the loopy-ness she felt.

"Okay. Now, cross your legs like I'm doing." Arnold slid around on the patterned yellow carpet so that he was facing Helga and put one leg over the other, locking a bare foot into the crook of his knee. The loose white pants he was wearing looked much more comfortable than Helga's jeans. "It'll be hard to do with your shoes on, here…"

Helga watched helplessly as Arnold reached across and lifted her foot to start untying a shoelace. Before she could open her mouth to sarcastically quip that she was no Cinderella, he was already pulling off her sock. Helga closed her eyes and froze. It wasn't the first time he'd held her bare foot in his hands, but the last time was in fourth grade and he hadn't done it of his own honest volition…

Arnold seemed not to notice her reaction as he gently placed that foot on the ground and held his hand out for the other one. Helga stared at his hand for a second before stuttering, "N-No, it's f-fine, I know how to take off my own shoes, doi!" and she hastily ripped off her other shoe and sock and tossed them nonchalantly over her shoulder.

"Okay, now tuck whichever foot feels more comfortable under your knee like this," he indicated his own legs with a sweep of his hands.

Helga's legs were by far longer than her companion's but she managed to mirror him. "Like this?"

"That's great! Just, here…" Arnold reached over to adjust Helga's knees so that they were about the same height and then straightened back up across from her. "Okay, you're almost there."

Helga sighed, not for the first time that day. She had been greeted at the door of the boarding house about ten minutes earlier by Gertie, who was decked out in full martial arts gear, complete with black belt. "Will you be staying for dinner, Eleanor? We're having soup!" she offered briskly, as she crouched stealthily towards the kitchen, fly swatter raised. "You'll love it—this recipe's _full_ of protein…"

Before Helga could gather her mind enough to give an answer, Gertie stated matter-of-factly, "Kimba's in his room dear. Just show yourself up; you know the way."

Laughing nervously and mumbling something inarticulate, Helga had backed out of the doorway and only turned around as soon as one of her heels found the bottom stair. Halfway up to the second floor Helga's eyes widened and her shoulders flinched at a grand "HEE-YAH!" that came from the kitchen. She shook her head and muttered, "Crazy as a loon…" and turned the corner, running almost slap into Arnold's grandpa.

"Why, hello! If it isn't the angry little girl we all know and love—good to see you've started using the front door again—"

Helga's nervous laughter cut across him and she said hastily, "Yeah, yeah. What's shakin', Phil?" Helga made an attempt to lean casually against the wall and crossed one leg in front of the other. Her supreme effort to appear bored and unaffected apparently wasn't lost on Phil—he only smiled wider with a twinkle in his eye.

"You must be looking for the Shortman. Go on up, he's in his room." Phil wiggled his eyebrows and nudged Helga's shoulder with a bony elbow, internally cackling at her loss of composure. He left her stunned and gaping in the upper hallway as he strolled down the stairs, rolled up newspaper in tow. "And don't call me Phil!" he called behind him. "What _is_ it with these kids…"

Helga waited until she heard him reach the bottom step before she continued down the hallway. At the foot of Arnold's pull-down staircase she paused, reflecting on the many times she'd been in this very spot uninvited. _Steady, Old Girl._ Shaking her head, she shuffled her way up to the bedroom door and knocked.

"Hey Helga!" There he was. He had been waiting, she noticed, just for her. "Come on, I've got the perfect place—" and he was pulling her down the stairs by the hand much faster than she had willed herself to climb them.

Helga realized suddenly that she had been sitting on the yellow patterned floor and staring at Arnold blankly without listening to him. He was looking at her with a puzzled expression, a question on his face.

"Huh?"

"I was saying, are you ready?" He looked so… she couldn't quite place it. _Apprehensive_ didn't seem right, but that was the closest thing she could come up with.

"Yeah, let's get this over with, Arnoldo." This wasn't the first time Helga had been alone with Arnold, but without a school project to argue about with him, Helga was at a loss for content to supply a steady barrage of sarcasm. It was just Arnold, teaching her, and it had a surprisingly quieting effect on her.

Well, that was why she was here in the first place, wasn't it? Yesterday morning had been a particularly bad start to her day. Helga had woken up in an uncharacteristically good mood before picking out a pair of jeans and t-shirt and trotting down the stairs with a plan to finally eat breakfast on time.

Only there wasn't any breakfast. The last apple was gone. There wasn't any milk in the fridge, but it didn't matter because there wasn't any cereal either. Sighing, Helga squatted down to open the lower cabinet to root around for her secret stash of granola bars, but straightening up, she discovered the last one had been eaten. "Bob…"

She had stood at the bus stop, alternating between a furious desire to punch someone and a dull emptiness that wouldn't go away no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. Bob had been yelling at Miriam about something or other, probably Miriam had forgotten to pick up his suits from the drycleaner again.

Helga fumed to herself. Bob hadn't even bothered to throw the wrapper away but had wadded it up and stuffed it back into the empty box. But it was too late to address it. Helga climbed onto the bus, brandished her bus pass with a flourish, and pushed her way to her favorite seat next to the window. She was determined to at least enjoy that—and at least Phoebe's stop was coming up soon. She stretched out across the bench to take up as much space as possible, her feet poking out slightly into the aisle, to ensure her best friend a spot.

"Hey Helga?" a familiar voice behind her floated over the vinyl.

" _What_ , Hair-Boy?" she didn't even have the energy to turn around and glare at him.

"Are you feeling okay? You don't look too well." She almost sighed at the concern in his voice.

"I'm just peachy. Right as rain. Oh yeah, except for the fact that I'm _starving_."

"Well, you're in luck—" a bright yellow banana fell with a small plop from above into her lap. "Grandma gave me an extra one today."

Filled with sudden effort, Helga turned, fully touched by Arnold's kindness, and before she could stop herself she blurted out, "I can't take it anymore, Arnold—they're bugging me so much that I can't think straight!"

Arnold didn't bother to ask who was bugging her. He leaned with one elbow over the back of her seat. Gerald had his headphones on, but Helga couldn't help notice his puzzled glance at the pair of blonds. "Did you try to talk to—never mind." That was a useless question. Helga was now absently chewing a hearty mouthful of banana and didn't bother to acknowledge the slip.

"Well… what about meditation?"

"What about it?"

"Maybe it will help you relax? Take your mind off it." He didn't waver under the look she gave him. "If you can't change the people around you, you can only change yourself, you know…"

"Tell it to the funny papers."

"Just give it a try?" He tilted his head casually towards her. "For me?"

"Well..." Helga hesitated and glanced carefully again at Gerald. He had his eyes closed, nodding his head to his music. "Fine, sure. But _only_ because I know you won't drop it… What do I have to do?"

"Just meet me tomorrow afternoon at the boarding house. I'll show you how." His answer was quick and to the point, almost business-like. Helga narrowed her eyes suspiciously. That was _her_ forte, and if she'd been the one to say it, she would have thrown in a casual eye-roll and a flippant examination of her fingernails.

"Is there free food in it for me?"

"Only if you can tolerate my Grandma's, um… avant-garde cooking." He laughed, but he looked partially serious.

"Don't worry, I'm no stranger to experimentation… Miriam's been confusing whipped cream and shaving cream for years. I've got somewhere to be most of Saturday afternoon, so I'll see you at 5."

"But where—"

"None of your beeswax. 5 PM. See you in math," and Helga was already off the bus hurrying towards the double doors. She hadn't even noticed moving her legs for Phoebe to sit down—she almost jumped out of her skin when Phoebe nudged her and gave her a wink as they headed side-by-side into school.

"Shut up, Pheebs."


	2. Breathe

Talking to Arnold had been the highlight of that day by far. At least she had enough cash to buy a decent lunch. Phoebe had watched her friend closely at the cafeteria table, wondering what had gotten into her—usually Helga was pleasantly snappy, but that day she was quieter than usual. "Helga?"

"Yeah, Pheebs?"

"I couldn't help but notice that this morning on the bus—"

"I know." Helga stirred her peas absently with her fork.

"There's nothing to worry about, you know. I'm sure the prospect of spending some time with _Ice Cream_ will be quite wonderful—"

"Ah, who are you kidding, Phoebe!?" _Here it comes_ , Phoebe had struck gold. "Just me and _Ice Cream_ , alone together? For who knows how long? What if I slip? What if he thinks I'm completely nuts?" She waved a plastic spoon in the air, her bowl of tapioca clutched in her other hand. Phoebe already knew per Gerald's long accounts that Arnold most likely already thought she was nuts, but she didn't dare tell Helga that. She'd read between the lines enough to know a few gems of her own, and she was almost giddy finally engaging her friend in this particular conversation. Helga fortunately didn't notice as she splattered pudding on the wall. "What if Arn—I mean, _Ice Cream_ hates me?"

"You'll never know until you give it a shot, Helga. Don't worry, you've got me on speed dial in case of any emergencies."

Helga, finally defeated, slumped down into her seat. "Thanks, Pheebs."

"Now close your eyes," Arnold was saying.

"Why?"

Arnold sighed. "It won't work unless you close your eyes. Trust me."

"Fine. Happy now?" Her eyes were closed. "Remind me again how you tricked me into coming over here?"

"Okay, now relax," Arnold ignored her, plowing ahead. "Breathe in deeply and think about something that makes you happy." His voice was moving as he talked, but she didn't open her eyes.

"Good luck with that…" she started to mutter, but stifled a gasp instead as she felt a pair of hands pushing lightly on her lower back.

Before she could register what was happening, Arnold's voice was entirely too close to her ear as he said incredulously, "Wow, your posture is _terrible_." She felt his hands travel upwards along her back and she couldn't help but comply with the movement, straightening up to her full height. "Man, you're tall… Good, keep your eyes closed." His hands were on her shoulders, pulling gently to straighten them out. Now they were on her neck. She almost melted when she felt him place one hand on each side of her face and was compelled to tilt her head whichever way he directed it.

He must have walked back to where he had been sitting originally because his voice came from there next, "You still with me, Helga?"

"Yeah, yeah..." She tried to keep the trembling out of her voice, but she had a nagging suspicion it wasn't working too well.

"Your face is all screwed up—"

"Geez, thanks a _lot_ Arnoldo—I didn't come here to be insulted—" her eyes snapped open and she clenched her fists.

"No! No, I meant your face is scrunched up like this," he did the same with his own. "Just try to relax all the muscles in your face."

"Oh." She tried to do it, but it wasn't working.

"Close your eyes again, it will help." When she closed them, he said, "Okay, now relax your forehead. Now your eyes. Now your mouth."

Helga was burning on the inside. She couldn't abide the fact that Arnold was looking at her mouth, studying it. She knew her face was turning red. "Remember to breathe, Helga!" She breathed in sharply through her nose.

"You didn't say this was going to be this complicated."

"I didn't say it would be easy. It took Grandma a while to teach me to do it. This is the room where she trained me." His hands were now at her elbows, adjusting them, and then at her hands, picking them up and arranging them on top of her knees. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I've been groped all over by a short blond guy claiming to teach me how to meditate." Now she felt in control. _You can do this, Helga. Put him in his place._

It took Arnold a split second more than she expected for him to respond. She didn't dare crack an eyelid. "Sit up straighter." This time his voice was harder, and he didn't help her. She complied on her own.

"Now, breathe in. Out. In—deeper. Out. Keep going." He paused and she felt him watching her again. "Eventually you'll be able to clear your mind completely and just be in the moment."

But Helga's mind was racing. "Hey, hey, hey—what do you mean, _eventually_?"

"Like I said, it's not going to be easy. You have to stick with it, practice every day." Arnold paused. "Don't worry, I can help you if you want."

"You mean, I have to sit here on this floor with you _every day_ until I get this thing right?"

"Well, yeah… until you're ready to do it on your own."

She didn't know where to go from here. "How long did you say it took your Grandma to teach you?"

"Maybe a few weeks. But you'll probably take longer—you've got some pretty strong emotions, Helga." She could hear the smile in his voice.

"S-strong emotions?" Her palms were sweating.

"Yeah, you can see it in your face. It's scrunching up again." Helga felt more exposed than ever— _he could see her feelings_. The game was up. "Relax."

"Criminy, Arnold! How on earth can a girl relax when you're breathing down my neck!?"

"Shhhh… just breathe." He was whispering. It was driving Helga mad. He was using his nature-boy voice she remembered from the time they were locked in a greenhouse. She'd wanted to strangle him then too.

"Fine." She growled through clenched teeth and willed herself to breathe.

A few more iterations of this and Helga was beginning to notice a peaceful calmness drifting through her mind. She saw out of the corner of her thoughts an image of Dr. Bliss grinning and giving her an exuberant thumbs-up. _Shut up, Bliss_. Bliss had been trying (and failing) to get Helga to try this kind of thing for years.

"You're doing great Helga! I think we can call it a day. You don't want to wear yourself out trying to relax."


	3. Discover

Over the next few weeks, Helga was becoming a regular (and this time, known) visitor at the boarding house, at least to the residents. Ernie and Oskar especially attempted to give her a hard time, but she'd quickly learned how to joke around with them to deflect their suspicions as she strolled her way towards Arnold's room—Phil was the only one who seemed to see right through her and she futilely tried to avoid his knowing eye.

After her meditation lesson, sometimes she spent the night at Phoebe's, during which the two friends chatted amicably enough (as far as Helga could be described as "amicable") about decidedly Ice-Cream-related things until Helga hurriedly changed the subject. Some days were Gerald Field days in which Helga surreptitiously followed Arnold to the boarding house after most of their friends had already meandered home—sometimes Helga and Arnold did their homework together before ending the day in meditation—and if the weather was nice, more often than not, they'd go up through Arnold's skylight to the roof with a few cold Yahoos in tow. Although Helga had exploded randomly out of the wall once and had been caught on his fire escape long ago, Arnold seemed nervous to show her through his room as if he were introducing her to it for the first time. Helga stunned him as she snorted and slapped his proffered hand away as he tried to help her through the skylight.

Gerald and Arnold still had their weekly checkers night, and the guys' gang kept up their cards night in Arnold's room, which in an unspoken agreement, Helga and Arnold honored—if Helga happened to be in his room, she'd hastily check her watch and disappear to the roof with a quick "See ya, Football Head" before the guys noisily stomped up the stairs with their snacks and drinks. Arnold blinked feebly at the first of these departures but shook his head and noted the futility of questioning it as the guys heartily debated over whose turn it was to pick the game. Stinky always had the last word, of course.

Gerald knew Arnold was beginning to hang out with Helga a lot more than usual (and knew from experience that saying anything about it to Arnold would immediately set his best friend's nerves on edge, poor soul), but he had long since reverted to a few good eye-rolls and knowing smirks instead of his usual reasoned diatribes about the obviousness of the situation. Arnold once desperately shook his head and waved his arms at Gerald while Sid was setting up the card table as Gerald picked up a bright pink sock sticking out from under Arnold's couch—Helga had forgotten them as they cut it close that evening, and Arnold hadn't noticed in time to hide the evidence.

"But, dude, so what?" Gerald had started after Sid bid them adieu and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms as if to say, "Spill it."

"Gerald, you know that she'd _kill_ me if the guys knew I was—"

"What, dating her?"

Arnold turned beet red. "I—I-If they knew I was _helping_ her learn how to meditate—"

"Man… Oh, damn, Arnold. You mean, she doesn't… You aren't…" Gerald burst out laughing, "I _totally thought_ you guys were _—_ oh, I've _got_ to talk to Phoebe!"

"Gerallld…" Arnold was mortified.

"But you— _damn, Arnold_. What are you gonna do? I mean, you _do_ like her, right?"

Arnold moaned as Gerald continued to laugh with glee.

The next Saturday evening Helga showed up about half an hour late, this time with a duffel bag in tow. Phil raised an eyebrow as he let her through the open doorway. "Whatcha got there Pataki?"

"Who wants to know?"

Phil shook his head as she stomped in a familiar manner up the stairs. "Well make yourself at home then!" he chuckled on his way to the kitchen.

"Sorry I'm late Arnold, I was…" she shut the door behind her and turned to see Arnold stretched out on the floor, history book open and essay half-written. "Um… My… appointment ran late and I had to come straight from… its location."

"Huh?" Arnold looked up from his essay and shook his head. She looked tired, dressed in sweats and hair askew. "Helga, I won't tell anybody if you're embarrassed about it or something."

"Embarrassed? Me?" She humphed. "I've got nothing to hide." She regretted saying this instantly. "Anyway—let's get start—HEY! GIVE IT BACK!"

Arnold had deftly snatched the duffel bag off the floor and held it just out of reach behind his back. Many years of basketball and martial arts gave him a huge advantage. Helga was furious. Arnold almost looked scared. Almost.

"Oh, then you wouldn't mind if I just…" He slid his hand up to the zipper of the bag.

"Don't you dare—" She made a wild lunge but he easily sidestepped out of the way. "I'll—I'll—cream you!" This was becoming a bizarre dance. Arnold laughed, breathlessly dodging Helga's mad swipes to grab her bag from him.

"Come on Helga, you can tell me! I— _oompf!_ " Helga crashed into him and suddenly the duffel bag was flying, clothes were spilling out everywhere, and an enormous purple tutu had popped out onto the floor. "Oh…"

Helga was standing rigidly facing the wall. Deflated.

"Go ahead. Laugh."

Arnold wasn't laughing. Helga turned slowly to see him mouthing wordlessly and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh…" he said.

Helga waited.

"I'm just… surprised is all. I didn't know you were still—"

"Wait a minute— _still?!_ " Shit. Helga made another violent step towards him and Arnold backed up a step in kind, raising his hands tentatively in front of his body. " _Still WHAT,_ Football Head?!"

"S-still dancing. I mean I already kind of knew back in elementary sch—"

"Are you kidding me? How did you know?! Only Phoebe knows… _Phoebe… oh you wait until—_ "

Arnold cut across her hastily, "No! No, it wasn't Phoebe! I swear, Si-somebody found a picture of one of your rehearsals or something, it was no big deal—"

"No big deal? No BIG DEAL!?" Arnold hadn't seen her as desperate looking since she was worried Big Patty was going to beat her to death.

"Ballet is a great thing, Helga! Why do you want to hide it? I mean, if you've been doing it this long, you must be really good at it."

Helga was busily stuffing her things back into her bag, mortified that Arnold must have seen the pink polka-dotted bra she had to retrieve from the corner of the room. "Yeah yeah, whatever. _Who else knows about this!?_ "

"Only… me and… like two other people but _I swear_ nobody else—" Yep, he'd noticed the bra, judging by the obvious shock on his face. Helga inwardly groaned.

"Of course, Tall-Hair…" Helga seemed resigned, slapping a hand to her forehead. "Well I guess it doesn't matter anymore." She was completely and hopelessly red in the face, but tried to sit down cross-legged on the floor. "Do you need some time to keep writing your essay? I can just sit over here and start meditating while you write or something."

Arnold blinked. "Okay, sure."

After about five minutes, Arnold's voice called out over the scratching of his pencil. "Hey Helga?"

"What, Arnoldo?"

Arnold hesitated for a couple seconds. "I can hear you breathing, relax a little more."

She didn't answer but slowed her breaths.

After a few minutes, he called her name again.

He paused again.

"Spit it out, nerd." Helga's eyes were still closed.

"If you've been dancing ballet for this long, and if you're as good as you probably are…"

She remained silent.

"It's just interesting that it doesn't… show up in your posture or how you walk or whatever. I always thought that ballet was really graceful or something—"

"What are you saying, that I'm a huge _clod_ —" Her eyes snapped open and she was glaring at him.

"No! No, it's just really…" If he were bolder, he'd have joked, _sophisticated_. But he knew he'd pay for it dearly and instead opted for, "I mean, you've always struck me as a strong person. Tough."

"Newsflash, Arnold. Ballet is a sport. You think baseball and football are tough? Try doing this."

And Helga did a backwards somersault into a handstand, plopped her feet onto the floor, pirouetted, leaped into the air, landed, and slid into a split. She met Arnold's astonished eyes with her own haughty ones, picked herself up off the floor, swung her bag over her shoulder, and sauntered her way towards the door. "I don't know why I bothered to come today. I'm too exhausted to meditate. I have a recital Saturday, but if Sunday's good I can come over then."

Arnold nodded and finally choked out an "okay" before the door closed behind her. He was glad she'd gone into dancing instead of martial arts. She'd otherwise have been able to kill him if she wanted, not that she wouldn't be able to if he'd not known how to protect himself.

The door opened again, and Helga popped her head around it. Arnold started and looked up, afraid she'd thought better of it and decided to murder him after all. He braced himself.

"Recital's at 3. I can guarantee Miriam and Bob won't be there. Phoebe would have come but she's got some family reunion thing. You can sit wherever you want."

Without waiting for a response, the door closed and she was gone.


	4. Listen

On one of the last straggling warm sunny days of fall, after about an hour of Helga helping Arnold with his history essay—"No, the war of 1812 was _not_ —give me that!"

"Helga! Give me back my pencil, I can write it myself!"

"Fine, don't say I ain't done you any favors—"

They continued this banter for some time before calling it quits and were eventually sitting together quietly with their eyes closed, knees almost touching, the breeze stirring up the bric-a-brac littering the boarding house roof and the sounds of faraway traffic fading into the ambiance.

"You're getting great at this, Helga!" Arnold beamed at her as they perched atop the picnic table next to the old beat up charcoal grill that they cranked up every Thanksgiving. "A few more days and I'd say you were ready to do this on your own."

Helga was quite sure that this was the case many moons ago, but Arnold most definitely was not to know this. If anyone had willpower and control, it was Helga Pataki, what with her years of diligent practice. She struggled quickly for this week's excuse.

Arnold was reminded of the expression on her face when he'd walked up to the stage after her dance performance with a bouquet of a dozen pink roses. She obviously hadn't expected him to show up. It had suddenly and sadly dawned on him then that she'd probably never had someone bring her flowers just for being _her_.

"But, but—wait," she stammered, "Are you sure? I mean, yeah I can do more of this yoga junk now but I thought we were going to graduate to that whole becoming-a-master-fighting-machine thing, you know, like you did." Helga held out her hand slowly in front of her face and clenched it with reverence, and Arnold's eyes saw the gleam in hers. It unnerved him a little.

"Well…" He shook his head slightly and composed himself. "No, the deal was that I help you find inner peace, not help you cause more turmoil in the lives of others…" He hastily continued, "I mean, look at what it did to me—I'd hate to be responsible for unleashing you on our poor defenseless—Hey!" He laughed and backed rapidly towards the end of the table as Helga took a (not quite) mock swing at his head.

"Criminy!"

Two things happened in an instant—Helga, underestimating the nimble reflexes that Arnold undoubtedly still had from his years of tutelage under Gertie's stern eye, made a mad reach to save him from falling to the pavement below, and Arnold, catching himself gracefully against the edge of the table, did not have time to catch Helga's momentum gracefully as she plowed into him almost face-first.

Time stopped. One gasped, the other held her breath. The breeze rustled their hair.

"Um, Helga…"

"Y-yes, Arnold?"

His face was fiery, alight with the setting sun. She blinked weakly.

"I'm kind of… balancing us here on the edge of this table, and you're kind of… heavy." He glanced down at their bodies, pressed together under the strain of him holding himself up against nothing and her half on top of him with an arm slung with a ferocity around his back.

Her hand gripped his ribcage where it was already tightly holding his shirt. She braced herself, "Oh, heh, yeah. Whoops…" Her leg slipped and they rolled off the edge.

" _Oof!_ "

"Are you okay!?" Helga groaned beneath him on the hard ground—Arnold tried to struggle to his feet.

"Stop! Ow, my head!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Helga," Arnold was redder than ever, his hands were flailing.

Suddenly she had his wrist. "I'm fine, bucko, just shut up and stop squirming around like a dumb buffoon for a second so we can get—get…" she fell silent when her eyes reached his. "Oh… crap…"

Arnold froze. "What?"

Then he heard it, the dull clunk of the tray of food being set down near the attic door and an almost imperceptible laughter descending into the boarding house below.

"Was that—"

"He doesn't think—"

Somehow they had scrambled to sit up and were laughing nervously. Arnold rubbed his shoulder, "Are you okay?"

Helga stared pointedly into his face and rubbed the back of her head. "Yeah, I'm okay, you klutz—what the heck did you have to go and scare me like that for?"

"You were going to hit me!"

"Psh, no I wasn't, not really. And anyway if I had, you'd have totally killed me with your fancy karate moves—"

Arnold sighed and rubbed his brow, "I'd never fight you Helga—"

"What do you mean? You don't think I could pound you?" Helga scowled and shook Old Betsy at him again but quickly winced and rubbed the back of her head. "I'm no Herald Berman; I can see through that 'crazy' bluff you'd try to pull…"

"No! No, I mean," Arnold glanced somewhere around his knees before sheepishly looking at her. "You know what I mean." 

Helga looked towards the door. How was she going to get out of this…? Arnold's gaze followed hers.

"This never happened." 

"What?"

"This… this moment."

"What moment?"

It was her turn to be vague. " _You_ know what I'm talking about." She squinted at him, daring him to understand the context.

Arnold looked blankly at her.

"Doi! Phil? You heard him!"

Comprehension slowly dawned on Arnold's face. Helga didn't seem to like it when a tiny smile started blossoming at one corner of his mouth. _Stop staring at his mouth! This is a trap! Focus…_

"Oh, you mean when I was lying on top of you on the ground? You mean that?" He crossed his arms smugly.

Helga growled and in a half-strangled voice whined, "Sh-Shut up!"

"Or do you mean, you think Grandpa saw you trying to _catch me_? Do you think he could have thought that you were—oh, I don't know, trying to—" he leaned slightly towards her.

"Don't you even—I'm warning—" Helga was losing her composure, while Arnold seemed to only be gaining his.

"What, are you embarrassed, Helga? He's not going to tell anybody. Well, maybe my Grandma, but," Arnold raised an eyebrow, "He's been bugging me for years about what he calls our _courtship._ "

Helga was mouthing wordlessly, pointing an accusing finger at nothing in particular. This boy was too bold for his own good.

Arnold was halfway through a quiet laugh when he suddenly became very shy, "But don't get me wrong, I—I—" he seemed to shrink a little.

Helga had leapt to her feet, pacing erratically around the picnic table. "Well—what?! Say it!"

"Huh?"

"I mean, really, can you be that thick? Why don't you just rub it in, laugh some more. See if I care!" She crossed her arms tightly across her chest. 

"But, Helga—"

"It's not enough to torture me with your kindness and sympathy and help to make me feel—feel—relaxed and—and at peace, for once, away from the insanity of my—but t-to mock my—my—" she blustered, gesturing wildly at him. "I mean, look at you!"

Arnold had pulled himself up off the ground and was standing intensely still, "So… you really _are_ embarrassed…"

"Yes, you—what?" Helga stopped in mid-stride.

"To be here with me. You don't want people to know that we're… friends? Is that it?"

"Wait a minute, Yutz. You know as well as I do that _you_ don't want people to know—"

"Me? I thought you didn't want the guys to see you at my house! I mean, why else would you be climbing down my fire escape all this time, afraid somebody'd see you with _me_? I mean, Gerald and Phoebe know… it's not like—"

Helga sputtered out a string of curses and grabbed him by the shirt collar, almost at her wits' end. "What are we _going to do_? Your grandparents are down there telling everybody that we're, that we're—"

"Dating? Kissing? Is that really such an awful idea to you, Helga?" Arnold looked up into Helga's eyes and shrugged. "Gerald thinks that… we… well, you know…" He pointed to himself and then to her, then looked away self-consciously. A deep flush was creeping down his neck.

Comprehension dawned on Helga like a bag of bricks. "Whoa, whoa," she released him and took a step back, shaking her head and putting her fingers to her temples. "You, you mean, you think that _I_ — _Helga G. Pataki_ —think it's beneath _me_ to date _you_?"

She seemed to freeze, dazed. Arnold blinked. "Well, _yeah_ …" He sighed dejectedly and dropped his head to stare down at the roof.

"Don't you _ever_ say that _again_ , Arnold Shortman!"

He looked up, stunned, and then her lips were on his and they were kissing each other impulsively on top of the roof he'd known his whole life and everything was spinning crazily and Helga was not quite hurting his scalp as she twisted his hair in her fingers, but he didn't care, because he was probably gripping hers just as tightly…

After a few blinding moments, she released him and gasped, "Evil Twin Seven tomorrow night. You can tell Gerald to bring Pheebs. You're buying."

And with that, she was already halfway down the fire escape.

Arnold had to sit down. No wonder she had a hard time quieting herself with all that passion bursting out of her. "It's a date…" he whispered.


End file.
